


Fugue in G Minor

by wildfrancium



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, M/M, Music, Musical Instruments, Praise Kink, sexual innuendo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:19:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3651831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildfrancium/pseuds/wildfrancium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As part of probation, Mickey has been set up in a musical program at a fancy music school for the next 8 months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smooth Criminal

**Author's Note:**

> I just really, really like writing music AUs. I also had to explain instruments from an outsiders POV, so if it's weird, just know that I actually know what the things are called.

The building was old. Like, really old made from stone with arches and domed ceilings and worn marble steps. Music was muffled behind each closed wooden door. A bunch of classical shit that had never once touched his eardrums. 

They went up the stairs and to the left. Hall A the sign on the door read. The room was empty, all the chairs were in a neat semi-circle. The stands had been adjusted so that they were all the same height. Behind the chairs was a wall of cabinets full of cases. The percussion set up was on the left, gleaming in the bright light. 

“Wait here for Ian, Mr. Milkovich,” Mrs. Kozlovskaya told Mickey in a faint Russian accent. She stood with a straight back and lifted chin carrying a sense of height even though she was shorter than Mickey. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail and her arms were held at her sides. She looked at Mickey. “By the end of your time here today, you will have picked an instrument. Trust Ian told help,” she stressed again before turning and walking back down the dimly lit hall. Her heels echoed through the airy building. 

Mickey stepped fully into the room, letting the door clatter shut behind him. He crossed his arms. Lucky him there was an opening at the Kozlov Fine Arts School reform program. A program for young people fresh out of juvie or jail. His probation officer thought it'd be a good idea for him to do something constructive to cause him to have less free time to fuck up. Mickey had protested, but his rants fell on deaf ears and he was forced to show up promptly at 4 o'clock on a Wednesday. 

Kozlovskaya hadn't seemed the least bit fazed when she flipped through his file the judge had sent over. She barely even blinked when Mickey acted tough and haughty through her speech on how the program had helped many individuals like himself. No matter how many times he rolled his eyes or swore, she continued, unmoved, by his behavior. 

Now he was supposed to pick a fucking instrument with the guidance of some star pupil she referred to as Ian Gallagher. Once he picked an instrument he would be expected to arrive promptly at 4 pm every day for two hours three days a week, for the next 8 months. Eight fucking months of his life were going to be wasted. Not that he really had better things to do, but still. Eight fucking months. 

He briefly considered fucking with the room, but the threat of a court appointed job if this didn't work out wasn't that appealing. 

He walked over to the percussion. Everything was shiny, but worn. He looked over everything realizing he could name two maybe three things in front of him. And since he wasn't about to ask, that ruled out playing percussion. (Although the really big drums looked kind of fun.)

He ran his finger down the chimes and tapped his finger tips against the top of one of the drums. This was such bullshit. The kids that came here paid a good price to do so. (He'd looked it up on the internet.) 

The door opened, startling him, and a red head walked in. Tall, pale, and not crusty and old like Mickey had assumed him to be. Hell, Ian looked younger then him. Or at least this person he was assuming was Ian was. 

“You Mickey?” assumed Ian asked. 

“Yeah,” Mickey said shortly, moving away from the drums. Ian was lugging a case behind him which he propped up and kicked the door shut behind him. 

“Ian Gallagher,” Ian said reaching out his hand. Mickey glanced at it, but didn't shake. Ian pulled his hand back with a shrug. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked around. “Any idea of what you want to play?” Ian asked. “Percussion? That's usually a go to,” he said. Mickey bristled. He didn't like the way Ian assumed to know him. “Want me to take anything out?” Ian tried. Mickey looked at the cabinets. He shrugged. 

Ian motioned for him to follow and handed him two things he took out of the cabinet. “Standard mouthpiece, not for everything but it'll do and a reed. It's not broken in, but it's fine,” Ian explained quickly as he started pulling cases out. “Clarinet, saxophone, trumpet, flute, baritone, trombone,” Ian listed setting each case on the floor. “Then strings. Violin, viola, and this closet has cellos and basses. If you need me to then I can get the harp, but I don't think that will suit you,” Ian said sarcastically. Mickey flipped him off. 

“What am I supposed to do?” Mickey asked looking at the cases all set up around him. 

“Open them, try it out, and pick. You can always change your mind. Or do what I do and play more than one.”

Mickey huffed. “Yeah that's never going to fucking happen,” he told Ian. Ian shrugged. 

“Started on piano and now I stick mostly to cello and I've been picking up some of the percussion. There's a drumline here that goes to compete and everything. I've been considering trying out,” Ian explained. Mickey just stared at him. This kid thought he was going to become some musical genius or something. 

“Just give me fuckin' anything,” Mickey said at last. He wasn't about to sit around opening every case for no reason. 

Ian looked at Mickey and then at the cases and then back at Mickey. He picked up a rectanguler case and thrust it at Mickey. 

“What is it?” he asked. Ian rolled his eyes. 

“Just open the fucking case, Mickey,” Ian sighed before starting to put away the other instruments. Mickey set it down on a chair and unlatched the buckles. It was a trumpet. 

“You want me to fucking play this?” Mickey asked picking it up. 

“That or percussion,” Ian said flatly. He crossed the room over to a bunch of filing cabinets and opened open. He placed the book he'd taken down in front of Mickey. 

Trumpet for Beginner's Level 1A.

Mickey flipped through. It was like another goddamn language. There was no way this was going to last 8 months. 

Mickey looked up to see Ian back by his case. A cello case, Mickey identified. He watched Ian unlatch it and pull the dark wood instrument out. He set it on its side and pulled out a stick. Mickey moved a little closer so he could see better. 

Ian rubbed wood on the stick before setting it on the stand in front of him. From his backpack, Ian pulled a folder heaving with paper covered in notes. Mickey watched him pull a sheet out and smooth it out over his lap before setting it on the stand. Ian lifted the cello up, pulling a metal rod out of the bottom, and resting it on the floor while it balanced against his shoulder. 

He looked up at Mickey. “I get two hours of free practice time in here before the Symphonic group comes in to practice. They are the highest level players,” Ian said to Mickey. He vaguely remembered Kozlovskaya mentioning something about their being five levels; beginner, junior, intermediate, senior, and masters. The grouping applied for their combined band and orchestra, and their choir, but there were also groups like jazz band, acapella choirs, and drumline, whatever that was, that were separate. 

“What are you in?” Mickey asked. 

“Intermediate. We practice 7 to 9 pm on Tuesday's and Thursday's. And then 1 to 4 on Saturdays,” Ian told him. Mickey nodded. “You should try the trumpet out,” he encouraged. He then moved the stick over the strings as he turned little knobs below them. Mickey watched before going back over to the trumpet case. He looked at the mouthpiece in his hand assuming it went with the trumpet, since Ian had taken the reed back. 

He plopped down in a chair, opening the trumpet book, grateful to see instructions on the first page. He was not about to let Ian know he knew jack shit. The next page prompted him to simply blow into the instrument. He mimicked the holding position, dropping his shoulders and holding his arms steady with the trumpet out straight. (He felt like a fucking tool.) The position forced him to sit with a straighter back then he'd ever had in his life. And then he blew. 

A sharp, loud note reverberated around the room. It was powerful. Mickey was surprised at how loud it was from what he thought wasn't that forceful of a blow. He glanced over at Ian, who was watching him with a small grin. 

“Try again but tighten your lips,” Ian told him. Mickey rolled his eyes. 

“What am I doing? Giving a fucking blow job?” he muttered. 

“A blow job would be good practice,” Ian said non-nonchalantly. Mickey ignored him and pursed his lips a little more. The note was definitely different. Mickey refused to acknowledge the rush of excitement that washed through him. 

“Now loosen your lips and blow,” Ian called. Mickey rolled his eyes. 

“If that's how you like it,” Mickey commented. He tried his best to do what Ian suggested. He struggled, but eventually produced a slightly lower note. 

“Now play around with the buttons,” Ian instructed. Mickey narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Shouldn't you be like, practicing?” Mickey asked. Ian shrugged and played a few notes to humor Mickey. “Scared to play in front of me?” Mickey pushed grinning slyly. Ian met his eyes from across the room. 

“See if you recognize this,” Ian told Mickey. 

“Doubt it,” Mickey said leaning back in his chair. Ian should have picked up that Mickey was not one to listen to classical bullshit. But he stood up to get a better view anyway.

A look of concentration fell over Ian's face. He placed the stick on the strings and began grinding out low notes. Mickey was a little shocked. He didn't expect something so intense and aggressive to come out of the instrument or Ian. His fingers worked away moving across the strings switching to higher notes. A melody. 

A melody that was itching at the back of Mickey's mind. The song got soft for a moment, before Ian forced the notes out filling the entire room with his playing. 

It was a song Mickey knew, but he didn't know why. His mind was coming up with words. “A crescendo Annie,” Mickey murmured to himself. Ian switched to plucking the strings. Mickey was still surprised by how fast his fingers were moving and how one instrument could fill up an entire room. Mickey continued to hum along, eyes   
glued on Ian's hands as they moved across the strings letting the song fade off. 

He looked up at Mickey. “Know it?” he asked. Mickey nodded slowly. 

“I can think of the words, not the title,” he admitted to Ian. 

“Smooth Criminal by Michael Jackson,” Ian told him. It made sense now. When Mickey was little his oldest brother had a huge Michael Jackson phase. Of course, it wasn't played when Terry was home, but Mickey had been alone with his brothers enough to have the songs embedded into his long term memory.   
Mickey nodded. “You're better then I thought,” Mickey added. The second he said it he regretted it. The smug pride that crossed over Ian's face made him roll his eyes. 

“You could be good too,” Ian insisted. Mickey barked a laugh. 

“In your wet dreams,” he told Ian flipping him off. He was ready to go. Kozlovskaya had said all he needed to do that day was pick an instrument and then he was free to go. He'd already spent over an hour there and most of it was for no reason. 

“I hope so,” Ian called after him. Mickey smirked. While he wasn't about to admit to Ian being attractive, he kind of hoped he would be in Ian's dreams. 

“Where do I put this?” he asked holding up the case. 

“Cabinet 3, but first put your name on the tag in the slot that says beginner,” Ian told him holding out a pen. Mickey walked over to grab it and scribble his name onto the slot. There were two other names on the tag. One under junior and one under intermediate. “That's going to be the trumpet you always use. Take the mouthpiece   
and book with you and bring them back each time,” Ian told him as Mickey lifted the case into the cabinet and nestled it among the others. 

“Okay,” he told Ian pocketing the mouthpiece. “Can I leave this here? I'm not taking it on the fucking train.” Mickey said holding up the book. 

“Did Kozlovskaya give you a mail box?” Ian asked. Mickey shook his head. “Okay they are in the room by the front door. Not the waiting room, but on the other side. If she doesn't give you a mailbox today, just put it in mine. Number 224. It'll say Gallagher, I.”

“Okay,” Mickey said relieved he wouldn't be riding the L with the book or bringing it into his house. The mouthpiece he'd leave too. Better safe than sorry.

“I'll see you later?” Ian asked sounding almost hopeful. Mickey shrugged. 

“I'll be here for the next 8 months,” he told Ian as he opened the door. 

“Okay,” Ian said with a small smile. 

“Yeah,” Mickey said and let the door bang shut behind him.


	2. Vesuvius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating change because sex.

Mickey was frustrated. It was Wednesday of his second week and he'd gotten as far as learning Hot Cross Buns. His teacher, Mr. Lenard, was as boring as they came. He was old and withered with gray hair and a monotone voice. Spending an hour with him was _painful_. Mickey was sure his eyes were going to bleed. The guy taught so slow. The C Scale had been a breeze. Hot Cross Buns was a breeze, and yet the guy wouldn't advance Mickey at a faster pace. 

So after his hour lesson, when he was in Hall A practicing alone, he skipped ahead. There was no fucking way he was going to spend one more minute playing Hot Cross Buns or even Jingle Bells or any of the shit on the first few pages. If he was going to be stuck there he wanted to play actual fucking music. 

The door to Hall A opened abruptly causing Mickey to jump to his feet defensively. But it was only Ian. 

“Hey,” Ian said glancing at Mickey. Mickey hadn't seen Ian since their first meeting. “How's practice?” 

Mickey shrugged. “Fucking bullshit,” he admitted slumping in his chair. He'd manged to play everything up to page 18 with little to no trouble, even though Mr. Lenard had him trapped on page 4. Once he'd learned the C Scale and played it ad nausem, he was able to recognize the notes in the songs on other pages. 

Sometimes a new note was introduced, but it wasn't that hard. Sure he might not be actually playing it right, but he'd rather try then play Hot Cross Buns one more time. 

Ian laughed. “Because it's too hard or too easy?” he asked taking his cello out of the case. Mickey had gone home after first meeting Ian and researched the parts of a cello so he didn't feel completely lost when watching him. 

“Easy,” Mickey said which still surprised him. Mandy didn't believe him. No matter how much he fucking insisted. 

“Really?” Ian asked raising his eyebrows. 

“Yes,” Mickey bit out.

“Okay no need to get testy,” Ian said opening his binder of music. Mickey watched him. “Are you going to sit there and stare? Or play something?” Ian asked without looking up. Mickey narrowed his eyes, but brought his trumpet to his lips and started working his way through Lightly Row.

Ian played along with him. 

“You know that song?” Mickey asked looking over at Ian. He shrugged. 

“It's not that hard. I played it a long time ago,” he said simply. It annoyed Mickey. He shouldn't be slogging through this shit. If they wanted him to play a fucking instrument then they needed to give him real music. Not the watered down baby shit he was stuck with. 

“What are you playing today?” Mickey asked Ian. 

“Just stuff for fun. I won't be getting into the hard stuff until next month and I'm tired of the summer music,” he explained while shuffling papers. “What are you playing? Or are you still going over Lightly Row?” 

Mickey sighed. “I hate this fucking book and the teacher. It's boring.”

“The trumpet or the music?” Ian asked. Mickey thought about it. 

“Music,” he said honestly. If he was playing better music he _knew_ it wouldn't be so painful. He wouldn't go as far as saying it'd be fun, but it'd be better than this shit. “Like I though music was like Mozart and shit,” Mickey said with a shrug. Ian smiled shaking his head.

“You have to learn before you advance,” he said. Mickey groaned. 

“But I know I don't need to be fucking doing this,” he moaned slumping in his chair. 

“Like what? You want it to give you a rush or something?” Ian asked cocking his head. Mickey shrugged. 

“I want it to be something other than boring. I won't be able to last if it stays this boring,” Mickey whined. He was probably acting really childish, but he was being forced to do something that made him want to pull his hair out. He thought there'd at least be a challenge and work involved instead of him literally counting down the seconds. 

Which was new to him. He'd been at it a week, but he already had a weird attachment to his trumpet. Like it made him feel powerful and in control. He loved that he could make the sounds he needed. And he felt like he could play anything if they'd just give him something better to fucking play. 

“I think I know what you mean,” Ian said standing up. He crossed the room to a cabinet with a stereo. “You want something like this,” he added. Mickey got up to see that Ian was putting a CD in and turning up the volume. “This is a recording of the intermediate band instruments playing Vesuvius at the summer concert. While it's pretty heavy on clarinet and oboe and stuff, I think it's what you want.”

“What do you mean what I want?” Mickey asked. 

“I mean, what you feel during this song is what you want to feel when you play your trumpet,” Ian said with a smirk. Mickey held his ground. He frowned and waited.

Ian hit play. 

The song started out kind of frenzied. Chaotic. Instruments Mickey couldn't pick out melded together, but he was sure he heard some trumpet. It smoothed out into a quick beat, but it was softer. Even though Ian was trying to blow his ear drums out with the volume. 

Ian was nodding along to the song and Mickey actually _felt_ the music build and then it boomed around them. Horns and woodwinds belted the song for a moment in time with a low drum. And yes. _Yes_. That's what Mickey was talking about. Ian lifted an eyebrow. 

The song was quiet again and slowed. Mickey watched Ian, trying not to smile at how great the song was making him feel. But he wanted that build again. It was still slow and flowy. He wanted the chaos back. The booming. He wanted to feel it rush through his body...

And Ian grinned as the music grew. Finally there was a burst. Mickey felt like the horns were screaming at him. The sound echoed all around the room. The drums. The horns. The clarinets or whatever. All of it was mashed together the _right_ way and it wasn't letting up. Every time he thought the song would end, it didn't. 

It was back to the hurried melody and this time, he could feel the build coming. He braced for it smiling. It had to end big. 

The sound of the gong – was that a fucking gong? – startled him as the song sang out filling Mickey up so much that he felt like he couldn't breathe. This is what he wanted to play. He wanted to fill all the space in the room with his playing. Not the weak songs in his book. 

“Is this what you want to play?” Ian asked stepping closer to Mickey. The song had restarted. He nodded barely noticing that he was breathing hard. Music had never done that to him before. Whatever that was. Ian stepped into Mickey's space, crowding against him as the music blasted out of the speakers. 

“Yeah,” Mickey said swallowing thickly. Ian looked at him through lowered lashes. 

“You feel it?” Ian murmured reaching down to grope Mickey's dick. Ian held tight making Mickey gasp. 

“Yeah,” Mickey breathed out. It was in the slow, lulling part of the song. They stood there, eyes locked, Ian's hand still on his cock, almost like they were waiting...

The song shifted as if shocking them both back to life. Mickey tore his shirt off faster then Ian did. He was tugging at his belt eager to be out of his fucking clothes. His eyes followed Ian's every move from when Ian locked the door to when he went to pull stuff out of his bag. Mickey stood there, hands ready to shuck his pants the moment Ian was by him again. 

The music was doing that thing again. Where it got all loud and intense and he could feel it making his chest tight as he waited for it to reach the apex –

Ian grabbed Mickey by the arm jerking him over to the wall. He stumbled, letting Ian maneuver him so that his back was pressed against the empty wall. Ian was flush against him, lips already sucking against Mickey's neck. 

Mickey gasped again grasping at Ian's back to pull him closer. The song was starting over again. It calmed, but Mickey was too desperate to notice. He was digging his nails into Ian's muscled back concentrating on the scrape of his teeth against his throat. Mickey felt like he was drowning until Ian twisted his hand in Mickey's hair wrenching his head back exposing his throat more. 

Mickey groaned trying to press up against Ian. “Look at you,” Ian murmured in his ear. He had Mickey's head yanked to the side and his hand sliding into Mickey's pants to jerk his aching cock. “Look at you all flushed and panting and nearly _begging_ for it,” Ian purred, voice barely audible over the blast of woodwinds. 

Mickey let out a choked groan. He wanted Ian in him, but he couldn't find the words. All he could do was move his body against Ian's trying to coax his hand to move faster, but Ian didn't seem to get the hint. And Mickey was sure that if Ian didn't get a fucking move on then he was going to lose his fucking mind. 

“Fuck you're hot all riled up. Bet you cock _aches_ doesn't it Mickey?” Ian teased tightening his fingers around Mickey's dick incase he felt like coming too soon. Mickey panted, brain reeling. 

“ _Please_ ,” he gasped out, voice wrecked. “I need you,” Mickey begged. The music was building again and fuck if he didn't get Ian inside of him – 

Ian released Mickey, flipping him, shoving him face first against the wall and holding him trapped there. Mickey rested his palms against the wall loving the way he was being held down. Ian's free hand pushed Mickey's pants down to his knees and then Ian's fingers were prodding and pulling his cheeks apart. A blunt fingertip pressed against his hole causing Mickey to inhale sharply. 

“I've got lube,” Ian reassured him and there was the faint sound of a package tearing. The lube was cold running down his crack. Ian smeared his fingers through it, coating them, before pushing one into Mickey's hole. He sighed. “Not too tight,” Ian commented lips brushing Mickey's shoulder. 

“I have toys,” Mickey whispered. 

“Fuck I'd like to see that,” Ian groaned licking Mickey's ear. “See you fuck yourself open for me,” Ian continued sliding another finger in. 

“Uhhuh,” Mickey barely manged to moan out. It was getting to the part of the song he liked and fuuuck if Ian fucked him through it... The thought made him harder. His dick was trapped between him and the wall, but the pressure was nice. It wasn't relief, but it was better then nothing. 

“You want me to fuck you? Hard and relentless? Fuck you into the wall?” Ian growled. Another package was being torn. Mickey nodded the best he could. His mouth was open and all he could do was pant, eager with anticipation. 

Ian pulled his fingers out, replacing them with the tip of his cock. He held Mickey's hip, squeezing and forcing him still. Mickey scratched at the wall, eyes rolling back, completely lost in the pulse of the song and the feeling of Ian's cock pushing inside of him stretching him wider then he ever dared to go. The pain was mixed with exhilaration and he knew he was moaning like he was in a porno. 

Ian's words of encouragement and praise helped Mickey relax as he took it. “So good. So good taking it all. Such a good boy, Mickey,” Ian was moaning against the back of Mickey's neck. 

The second thrust made Mickey's eyes roll back. He wasn't going to last. It was that part of the song and dear god, Ian needed to pick up the pace and wreck Mickey. Ian had one hand on Mickey's hip and the other on the wall, bracing himself, so that he could _finally_ thrust into Mickey the way Mickey wanted it. 

Rough and dirty and reckless. Each thrust punched a groan out of Mickey. His eyes were screwed shut. He was sweating and panting having each breath ripped out of him by Ian's thrusts. Ian's mouth was running like the tap fueling Mickey closer and closer to the edge. 

He could feel his orgasm at the base of his spine, building in his belly, his balls tightening, Ian wedging his hand in between Mickey and the wall to jerk him as best he could. 

It was too much. Mickey's eyes fluttered open as the song reached the part he was waiting for. The gong rang, shattering Mickey's resolve. Between the music and Ian, Mickey had his orgasm ripped from him, coming all over himself and Ian's hand and the wall. But fuck he nearly saw stars. 

And Ian was still pounding away, milking Mickey threw it until he couldn't take any more... Ian had two hands on Mickey, using his ass even though he was already done. And he let Ian. Eyes falling shut, waiting to feel Ian come inside him. 

Ian came with a low groan that made Mickey shiver. Ian's thrusting slowed and he finally stopped sweaty forehead pressed between Mickey's shoulder blades. They stood there, gulping in air, as the song started over. Mickey felt like he was going to collapse if Ian was holding him. 

“So good,” Ian murmured pressing kisses to Mickey's shoulders as he pulled out. Mickey turned to look at Ian. His entire body was flushed and he was wiping his face on his shirt before pulling it out. His cock looked even bigger then it felt. 

He watched Ian throw away the condom, after wrapping it in about ten tissues, and turn off the music. Mickey let out a pleased sigh finally ready to pull his pants back up. Ian cleaned up the wall as Mickey put his shirt back on. 

“So that's what you'd rather be playing?” Ian asked slyly. Mickey nodded sinking into his chair.

“Exactly that,” he told Ian who smiled happily. 

“I'll see what I can do,” Ian told him unlocking the door. Mickey nodded flipping lazily through his music book. With stuff like _that_ , trumpet could get _very_ interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was literally dying because Mickey isn't familiar with music terms like crescendo so describing the music with basic music knowledge was very difficult. 
> 
> And the song is Vesuvius by Frank Ticheli. Give it a listen.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I know the parts of a cello! Also, please fill your ears with the beauty of Smooth Criminal by 2cellos.
> 
> Or come say hi >>> lexatargaryen.tumblr.com
> 
> [Tags will be added as the story progresses and rating is subject to change]


End file.
